


Tacos For Two

by PickledDeath



Category: Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Grief/Mourning, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-09-24 19:23:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9781577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PickledDeath/pseuds/PickledDeath
Summary: Wade has it made. He owns his own taco truck, he's his own boss, he makes his own hours. Things are going great!Except for this one tiny thing. So tiny. Itsy bitsy. He felt like an ass every time he felt bad over it. His life was so good otherwise, how could he complain about this one thing? He was living the dream!If only he wasn’t neck deep in love with one of his customers.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Original Prompt from the spideypool-prompts blog: Wade owns a popular bakery/coffee shop/taco stand or mexican restaurant/etc and Peter comes in almost everyday. They flirt and stuff. Then one day Peter doesn’t show up. One day turns into one week. One week turns into one month. Wade has no clue what happened to him. Powers or No powers AU.

The taco truck had started out as a pet project. He had been working as a chef at a greasy spoon since he was in high school and, while Wade had loads of fun there, being contained to their simple menu was starting to chafe. When a friend offered to sell him an old box truck on the cheap, the idea just came to him. Never being someone who let himself over think things, he bought the van for $500 cash and parked it in the alley behind his apartment.

It had taken weeks of work to make the old piece of shit fit to drive and then months after that to save up the money required to fully outfit the van with all the equipment needed to transform it from an old dry cleaning delivery truck turned shady drug lord van into a honest to jesus food truck. There were late nights spent lying in puddles of garbage juice working on the undercarriage and somewhat terrifying moments with a welding torch, but it was all worth it to finally stand back and look at his very own food truck.

In the end, he had decided to keep it simple. He had paid a starving college student a modest sum to paint a mustachioed taco on the side of his pale brown truck with the words ‘mexcellent’ in blocky font above it. It was fucking perfect.

At first, it had just been a side job. He took his truck to fairs and local baseball games on the weekends, enlisting the help of teenage dishwashers and occasionally his friend Weasel to put together tacos, burritos, or whatever he could scrounge together on short notice. It was Weasel who set up a twitter for him, telling him that his absence of virtual presence gave him hives.

It was the beginning of something really crazy. Wade was able to tweet where he was going to be and people would show up. The same people too. It was completely wild and, before Wade knew it, he was making so much from the taco truck that staying at the greasy spoon just seemed stupid.

Wade had his own business to run.

Wade settled into a pretty predictable weekly schedule. He got a permit to park his truck in a small park that sat between a bunch of big office buildings. He would go there every day and park himself between the korean bbq and waffle ice cream trucks and wait for the lunch rush. After the lunch rush, he would pack up, take a few hours break, and then head downtown where he would park outside of a buddy’s bar and pick up business from people coming in and out of the bars and shops late at night.

He would still go to fairs and games on the weekends, but he had enough money that he could stand to take a day off if nothing was going on. He really had it made.

Except for this one tiny thing. So tiny. Itsy bitsy. He felt like an ass every time he felt bad over it. His life was so good otherwise, how could he complain about this one thing? He was living the dream!

If only he wasn’t neck deep in love with one of his customers.

His name was Peter Parker and he was possibly the cutest and dorkiest thing Wade had ever laid eyes on. With an ass, like, damn girl shut the front door. Bounce a fucking dime off that ass, Wade swore to god.

Not only was he attractive appearance wise, but he was witty. Wade and Peter could trade barbs over tacos, burritos, or enchiladas. It seemed like Wade could hardly throw out an obscure pop culture reference that Peter couldn’t catch and toss back.

Honestly, it was true love. Nothing could be better.

Except maybe if Peter reciprocated his feelings even the slightest bit.

“Double meat tacos, extra sour cream, hold the tomato made with extra love for my sweetest baby boy!” Wade called out, presenting the two tacos with a flourish to the bespectacled young man waiting patiently outside his truck.

Peter smiled wide, showing off straight white teeth and the beginnings of wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, “Thanks, Wade,” he said, taking the small paper carrier and trotting over to a nearby picnic table where a pretty red head was sitting with him.

“Anything for you, lover!” Wade called after Peter, before sighing heavily and propping his chin in his hand on the edge of the window.

“Man, you’re totally pathetic,” Weasel snarked from where he was sitting by the open doors of the truck with his laptop balanced in his lap.

“Says you,” Wade pouted.

“That’s right, says me,” Weasel snapped back. “Since when you have you been shy? Just tell the guy how you feel so I can stop listening to your woebegone sighs.”

“I have!” Wade exclaimed, throwing his hands up and hitting the roof of the truck with a loud noise. He grunted and slid down to sit on the floor of the truck with Weasel, cradling his smarting hand in his other less damaged hand. “I tell him he’s hot, I ask him out on dates, I profess my undying love! He just laughs, like, he just thinks I’m joking.”

“And, you do nothing to dispel that misunderstanding,” Weasel added with a sly look at his friend.

Wade sighed again. “So, I’m a coward. I’m not paying you for today, you didn’t do shit,” Wade added sternly, with a finger pointed at the greasy nerd.

“Pfft! Like I care,” Weasel said, but shifted uncomfortably, telling Wade that he was right to make that clear now.

“Besides, I’m pretty sure the red head he’s sitting with is his girlfriend,” Wade said, trying to sound unconcerned about, but hearing the despair in his own voice. “He’s been sitting with her almost every day this week and they don’t work together. She comes into the park from a different direction than him.”

“Well, what can I say,” Weasel sighed in commiseration. “There’s plenty of ass in the sea, or something. Don’t get too down.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Wade waved him off.

“Also, I’m out of here if I’m not getting paid,” Weasel said, gathering up his laptop and stuffing it into a foul smelling bag. “Fuck you, by the way,” Weasel said by way of goodbye.

“Fuck you too, little buddy!” Wade yelled after him with a grin and a wave.

A few days after his enlightening (or more like disheartening) heart to heart with Weasel, Peter Parker, who had been one of the most steady customers of Wade’s lunch crowd, failed to show up for lunch. Wade had even stayed in the park an hour after his permit allowed hoping his brunette love interest would rush in late for a quick bite, as he sometimes would, but it was all for nothing. He got a few stragglers, but no Peter.

It was the same the day after that and the day after that. No Peter, no matter how long Wade waited.

Wade knew what building Peter worked in. He often saw him coming out of the tall glass building that apparently was owned by Stark labs, Wade had learned from talking to Peter. Peter had told him he was a researcher working on the fifth floor. If Wade wanted to, he could maybe go there and ask if Peter was okay. Was he coming to work? Had he quit? Did they know where he was working now? Maybe if Wade found out where Peter was working now he could get a permit to sell tacos nearby? Maybe he would just bumble into Peter and could make up some story about how that was a better lunch spot (even though the one he had now was excellent)? Maybe, maybe, maybe…

Wade talked himself out of it. It would be too weird. He could put Peter off permanently. There was still the chance the Peter had taken vacation and didn’t tell him. It’s not like he was obligated to do so. Wade was just the guy who selflessly made tacos exactly how Peter liked them every day for the past two years. Nobody would have blamed Peter for not mentioning he wasn’t going to be around for a while.

A week after Peter had disappeared, he finally reappeared at Wade’s truck. Wade’s extreme joy at seeing Peter’s familiar figure approaching his food truck was severely curbed once he saw Peter’s appearance.

Peter’s hair, which usually looked thick and soft, looked lank and tangled. His skin looked sallow and he had large bags under his eyes. His shoulders were folded in and his steps shuffled. He looked tired and defeated.

He started to walk toward Wade’s truck, but hesitated just at the edge of the picnic tables, as if rethinking his decision to come at all.

“Peter!” Wade called, leaning out the window of his truck to wave at the other man. 

Peter froze, his eyes on Wade, but didn’t move any closer.

Not letting himself think too hard about what he was doing, Wade ducked back into his truck and ran out the back. He kept running, dodging around picnic tables until he was standing in front of Peter in a stained apron, breathless but not from the run.

“Peter, are you okay? I haven’t seen you all week! You look like shit, like you haven’t slept all week! Fuck! Do you want me to make you tacos?” Wade rambled, his hands up and twitching toward Peter but not quite brave enough to bridge the gap.

Peter stared at Wade for a moment, looking slightly confused, before a smile broke over his face.

He snorted in laughter and Wade froze. “Hi, Wade,” Peter smiled.

“Hi, Peter,” Wade said faintly, consciously forcing himself to put his hands by his sides. “Are you okay?” he asked.

Peter frowned and looked down. That one question seemed to wreck him and Wade wanted to kick himself for asking.

“Not really, but it’s okay. How are you?” Peter said after a moment, his voice sounding a little caught when he spoke.

“It’s not okay,” Wade replies sharply, too sharply, and immediately regretted it after seeing the shocked and confused look on Peter’s face. “I mean, is there anything I can do?” Wade said in a quieter voice.

Peter looks up at Wade for a long moment, his expression curious and drilling. Wade struggled not to fidget, feeling like Peter was trying to peel back the layers of his flesh to see into his fucking soul and was probably succeeding.

Eventually, Peter said, “Those tacos sounded good,” with a slight tilt to his lips and Wade grinned before darting back to the truck.

The pair of tacos that Wade made then were both the fastest he had ever made a set of tacos and also the most meticulously. If only Peter could make all decisions about him based on how beautifully these tacos were assembled, Wade was sure he would fall head over heels for him.

Breaking his usual routine, Wade went out the back of the truck to carry the tacos out of the back of the truck and over to the picnic table that Peter was sitting at. It was around 11, too early for most people to be eating lunch, so they were lucky to have the park mostly to themselves.

“Two tacos, Peter special!” Wade announced with a grin and a flourish that was only slightly stiff compared to his usual way of calling out orders.

Peter laughed and smiled anyway, taking the tacos and sitting them in front of himself. Wade thought he probably should head back to the truck. He had prep to do before 12 o’clock hit and the lunch rush started. But, he stayed still and hovered while Peter stared indecisively down at his food.

“Actually,” Peter said hoarsely, looking up at Wade over thick black plastic frames, “I’m not sure I have a big enough appetite to eat both of them. Did you want one?”

“Are you sure?” Wade asked uncertainly.

“Yeah,” Peter replied with a smile, looking less strained already.

Wade cautiously took a seat on the opposite side of the table from Peter. He waited until Peter picked up the first taco before picking up the second one. It felt a little bit like sacrilege to eat a taco that he had made with so much care and fervor for Peter alone, but it was also food that Peter was offering him, even if he was the one who made it. Wade figured that about evened it out, so he tore into the taco with abandon.

The taco was delicious. The meat was moist and salty, the picante sauce tart and spicy, the sour cream and cheese cooling the heat of the sauce down enough that it was pleasant rather than sweat inducing. It was perfect. He had done it. He had made Peter the perfect taco.

Wade glanced up, eager to see Peter’s reaction, and was somewhat crushed to see tears shimmering on the edges of Peter’s dark lashes.

“Shit!” Wade exclaimed, letting his taco drop to the dirty picnic table without a thought. He stood up, only stumbling a little, and stepped around the edge of the table to kneel at Peter’s side. “Shit, Peter, what’s wrong? Is it the taco? Is it bad? Did I let something fall into it? I’m usually so good about that!” Wade bit out, angry at himself.

“It’s not that,” Peter replied in a thick voice, rubbing roughly at his eyes, which only served to make them water more and look more red than they already were. “Your food is always delicious,” he added in a smaller voice.

“What is it, Pete? Peter? Petey? You can tell me, I’m probably the least judgemental person I know!” Wade exclaimed, hands out in supplication.

“It’s-” Peter struggled for words, looking at the taco that was still in his hand rather than Wade. “It’s my aunt,” he finally said. “She’s been sick and she’s in the hospital and-” Peter’s voice curdled in his throat and Wade saw the tears amass and threaten to fall again. He held perfectly still, as if the slightest breath would be enough to nudge them from their precarious place on the edge of Peter’s eyelashes.

“My parents weren’t around when I was kid. It was my aunt who raised me. She’s the only family I have left and she’s-” Peter tried to swallow a sob and failed, “and she’s dying,” he finished, pressing his free hand over his eyes as the first few tears started to fall.

“Oh, Petey,” Wade sighed, his chest squeezing at the sight of the man he liked so much in so much pain. He was absolutely fucking terrible at comforting people, but for Peter he could at least try.

Standing on shaky legs, Wade took a careful seat beside Peter on the picnic bench and put his arm around the smaller man’s shaking shoulders.

“I came to work because I couldn’t just sit around and do nothing anymore,” Peter said through his tears. Wade took the taco out of his hands and sat it back down in the paper carrier it had come in. Peter quickly used his freed up hand to help cover his face.

“I thought if I tried to keep busy it would help, but everyone at work knows what’s going on and they just keep asking me questions and giving me these pitying looks,” Peter continued, as if a dam had broken and he couldn’t keep the words inside anymore. “I couldn’t take it! I just had to leave, but I didn’t know that to do. I told my boss I was coming back to work today. I just-”

“Hey, hey,” Wade said as Peter crumpled forward into his hands. He wanted to sound firm but comforting, but the words just came out panicked. “It will be all right, Petey. I know everything looks like shit right now, but I’ll stay with you ‘til it passes, okay? You’re not alone,” Wade said, squeezing Peter’s shaking shoulders.

His childhood was pretty shit and he remembered what it felt like to watch his mother die. He remembered that the loneliness, the feeling that the one person who would and could love him perfectly, was gone. They were the words he had wished someone had said to him back then, but they felt like they couldn’t possibly be enough in this situation.

Peter took three more big gulping sobs before seeming to pull himself together enough to look up at Wade’s concerned expression. Peter had taken off his glasses at some point and his eyes looked bigger without them. They were big and dark, edged in red angry skin and wetness. Tears tracked down his cheeks even as he looked up at Wade with confusion.

“You weren’t joking,” he said faintly and Wade froze as if Peter had just plunged a knife into his chest.

“What do you-” Wade started, struggling to pull his usual grin across his face.

“Those times you,” Peter faltered, blinked, displacing more tears, and looked away. “Those times you asked me out and stuff,” Peter muttered, not able to look Wade in the face when he said it.

A voice in Wade’s head wondered if his proclamation of undying devotion and worship to Peter’s ass fell under the stuff category, but the rest of him was totally frozen.

“Were you?” Peter asked, steel suddenly lining his voice. He looked at Peter and, even with wet red rimmed eyes, he looked determined. “Were you joking?” Peter asked again.

"No,” Wade replied after a moment. His voice sounded hoarse and distant even to him.

Peter’s face crumpled again and Wade wondered if that was the worst reaction he could have expected. The same voice informed him that a punch to the face was probably the worst, but tears were a close second.

Peter crumpled forward onto Wade’s chest this time, but Wade quickly caught him and wrapped both arms around his back, hugging him close as he started to cry again.

He shot an angry look at a woman walking her dog that was giving them an odd look when he heard Peter sniffle, “I’m sorry,” into his already pretty dirty shirt.

“What?” Wade asked against his better judgement.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said clearer, sitting up a little to press his forehead into Wade’s shoulder. “I shouldn’t have laughed. That was terrible of me.”

“No, it was- You thought I was joking.”

“I did,” Peter agreed, “but that doesn’t make it any better.”

Wade bit his tongue and pressed his mouth and nose into Peter’s hair. “Apology accepted,” Wade said into Peter’s hair.

Peter hiccuped around a sob and snaked his arms around Wade’s torso, the tears and sobs still flowing freely.

It was far from perfect, but what about Wade’s life wasn’t? It didn’t matter. It was a beginning and that was all that Wade cared about.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter needs Wade's help to clean his Aunt May's house before she returns home. Awkward bonding moments ensue.

Wade thought that the tender moment that he shared with Peter would change his whole life. Peter had come to him for comfort (well, he didn’t come to him on purpose, they just kind of stumbled into one another, but shut up, let him dream). Peter understood how he really felt and hadn’t immediately punched him in the face. Obviously, the beginning of their story book romance had finally taken place.

Not quite.

After Peter confessed to Wade what was going on in his life and Wade had basically confessed his true feelings for Peter, things basically went back to normal.

Peter took a few more days off of work to try and get himself together, but afterward returned to his normal day job. Wade didn’t change his routine and continued to show up at the business park for the lunch rush and, when Peter returned to work, continued to serve him tacos for lunch. Wade backed off of the shameless flirting a bit and Peter’s smile seemed a little bit more shy than before, but otherwise things remained the same.

It was fucking maddening.

“What should I do?” Wade moaned, face down on the couch in his apartment. The couch sort of smelled like sweat and farts, but he had had it long enough that it was perfectly melded to his body. Once you break a couch in, you can’t just get rid of it, no matter what it smells like.

“How the fuck should I know?” Weasel snapped. He was sitting on the floor of Wade’s living room with his laptop open on his coffee table. The Golden Girls were playing on the TV. Hulu had recently gotten season 1 - 7, so Wade was binge watching to soothe his aching heart.

“You’re, like, my fucking cupid. My matchmaker. You’ve been a constant source of advice through this whole lovelorn experience. How can you not know?” Wade exclaimed, his rant somewhat muffled by his face pressed into the couch.

“Maybe that’s why you’re in such deep shit,” Weasel muttered. “No one should come to me for romantic advice. Most of my experience is limited to my own hand and an innate sense of determination and ingenuity.”

Wade had to snort out a laugh at that. He sat up slowly after it got hard to breath around the stench of nacho dorito farts. On the TV, Rose, Dorothy and Blanche were gathered around the kitchen table discussing their love lives. If only he had some wise friends like them, he was sure they could solve his problem over a cheesecake.

“Are you hungry for cheesecake?” Wade asked, still watching the TV. Rose said something stupid and Dorothy bopped her on the head with a stack of papers.

“Fuck no,” Weasel said, wrinkling his nose. “How can you eat sweet shit like that?”

“Maybe I should buy him flowers or something?” Wade muttered, returning back to the problem that had been bothering him. “Maybe I should hide a rose in his tacos!”

“That sounds disgusting. Don’t do that,” Weasel said flatly.

“I don’t hear you coming up with any bright ideas,” Wade pouted, crossing his arms over his chest.

Weasel turned away from his laptop for a moment to level Wade with a considering stare. He pushed some of his greasy hair off of his forehead and said in a considering tone, “Why don’t you just ask him out? He knows you’re serious about it now. If you ask him out and he declines, at least you’ll know that he’s serious.”

“UGH!” Wade groaned, falling back onto the couch face first. “What a lot of help you are!”

Weasel rolled his eyes and returned to his laptop. “Whatever, dude. It’s your love life.”

* * *

 

Wade continued to dwell on what Weasel had said, even if he brushed it off in the moment. It felt like he had gone through so much and, at the time, he had thought that he had made such a great stride in his historic wooing of Peter Parker. But, in the end, he was back where he was initially. Thinking about asking Peter out on a date and worried that if he did Peter would reject him.

Wade still hadn’t decided what he wanted to do when Peter surprised him bye making the first move.

After finishing his tacos for lunch, Peter lingered until most of the lunch crowd cleared out. “Wade, could I talk to you?”

“Yeah, sure!” Wade agreed quickly. He finished up the last few orders he had waiting and then exited out the back of the truck.

Peter was waiting for him, fidgeting with his hands in a way that Wade had only seen him start to do since his aunt got sick. He looked a lot better than he had, his hair clean and soft looking, his clothes washed and pressed. But, he still had bags under his eyes and looked exhausted most days.

“What’s up?” Wade asked hesitantly, taking a seat on the back of the truck. Peter fidgeted for another moment before taking a seat on an upside down milk box.

“I was hoping I could ask you for a favor,” Peter said stiffly.

“You know that I’ll help you with whatever,” Wade agreed quickly.

“It’s just that,” Peter paused, more fidgeting and wringing of hands, “the doctor thinks my aunt is getting better and that it’s okay to bring her home.”

“That’s great!” Wade said probably a bit too loudly. He winced at himself. He didn’t even know the old lady, but he had been worried about her for Peter’s sake.

Peter smiled at Wade. “It is,” he agreed, “I’m just kind of,” Peter paused again, fidgeted more. Wade had to resist the urge to take Peter’s hands in his own to keep them still. He kept pressing his fingernails into the edges of his cuticles and it looked painful. Wade could already see where he had made some of his fingers sore and bloody probably doing the same thing.

Peter finally found his tongue and continued, “It’ll be her first time home in months. I want to make sure everything is perfect before I bring her home. But, I, uh, I haven’t been home to clean or anything in a while and uh...” Peter trailed off looking incredibly guilty.

Everything clicked in Wade’s head pretty quickly. Peter’s Aunt May was going to be returning to her little house in Alphabet City soon. Wade imagined that Peter, being the attentive nephew he was, had promised to take care of his aunt’s house in her prolonged absence. But, Wade continued to imagine, between worrying about his aunt, his job, and his own problems (hopefully worrying over his gay feelings for Wade) Peter hasn’t done as good of a job taking care of Aunt May’s house as he said he would. Now it was crunch time and Peter had to get the house spic and span as soon as possible.

Wade was big and beefy. Peter was probably hoping that he would be willing to pull the fridge out or something. It was disappointing, but it was better than nothing.

“Peter, say no more!” Wade exclaimed. “I understand. You need your buff and attractive friend’s help to do things like pick up the couch, reach the top shelf, and flex impressively while washing windows,” Wade said, flexing in demonstration.

Peter burst out laughing, finally letting go of his own hands in favor of trying to cover his mouth. Still snickering, Peter agreed, “You really read my mind. That’s exactly what I need.”

“You just name the time and the place,” Wade replied with a wink.

* * *

 

Peter did. Saturday morning in front of his Aunt’s house.

Wade had spent the entire night previous worrying about what to wear until he realized that he was just going to get dirty anyway. Whatever he wore, it probably wouldn’t matter as long as it was tight in the right places.

In the end, he showed up in a tight white t-shirt and some worn jeans. He was glad he ended up picking what he did, because Peter showed up in an old t-shirt with a captain america logo on the front and a stretched out collar. He had pale jeans with ripped knees and hems and an old pair of red converse that looked muddy.

“So, this is your aunt’s place?” Wade asked awkwardly, jerking a thumb toward the old house sitting about five feet from the curb. It was cute, the kind of house that inoffensive gay couples fixed up on the home improvement channel. It had gingerbread edges on the roof and was painted a dark purple and puke green combo. The windows all had shutters and lace curtains.

Wade had been staring at the place ever since he showed up fifteen minutes ago, navigating to the address that Peter had given him with his phone’s GPS. It was sweet and unassuming. Wade thought Peter had probably had a pretty good childhood there.

“Yep,” Peter said with a shrug, also looking a little stiff. He shoved his hands deep into this pockets and started to walk toward the front door. “I sort of haven’t been in here since my aunt first got sick, so it might be a little...” Peter trailed off as he unlocked the door and stepped inside. Wade followed after and agreed that Peter didn’t really have to finish that sentence. Closed up houses had a particular stank that were hard to replicate.

“So...” Wade said slowly looking around the little front parlor. Nothing looked especially out of place but nothing looked super clean either. “Where to start?”

“Windows,” Peter said with a grimace.

With that, both of them got to work. First, they went through the house room by room and threw open all the windows to start airing out the stale air that permeated the building. After opening all the windows, Peter found a dust rag for both himself and Wade and they started dusting all of the picture frames, knick knacks and hard to reach places they could find. There was a lot of dust that had settled throughout the house and Wade found himself glad for the cool breeze wafting in from the windows and hopefully carrying some of the dust away.

After they were done dusting, Peter stripped all the beds and threw the bedding into the washing machine. The bed in Peter’s aunt’s room was still unmade and some drawers were still open when they entered. Peter froze for a moment, looking stricken by the sight of the upturned covers and clothing hanging partway out of the dresser. Wade had placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder, which seemed to shake him from his reverie.

“I’m fine. Thanks,” Peter said with a strained smile and a thick voice. He moved to strip the bed quickly and said he would come back later to right the dressers.

They moved quickly after that, moving onto some of the harder cleaning. With all the dust knocked loose, Peter hauled the vacuum cleaner out of it’s closet and up the stairs. He vacuumed all the carpet and rugs while Wade swept the floors and wiped down the counters in kitchen. By the time Peter finished vacuuming everything, he went to the kitchen to find Wade eying up the fridge.

“Are you hungry...?” Peter asked slowly, finding the behavior somewhat odd.

Wade jumped, not having noticed Peter before that moment. “Oh, Petey! Do you want me to move the fridge so we can clean behind it?”

Peter grimaced and shook his head. “No, that’s okay. I don’t think Aunt May has cleaned behind the fridge since, ah, since my Uncle Ben died,” Peter explained. Wade didn’t miss how he stumbled over talking about his uncle. “I’m sure she’s not expecting me, ah, I mean, she won’t look there,” Peter explained, looking guilty.

“But!” Wade exclaimed, scrambling in his own mind for an excuse to flex the biceps his mother gave him. “Wouldn’t it be such a nice thing to do for her? Especially if she hasn’t been able to do it for a while?” Wade asked, trying to hold back the begging voice.

Peter squinted at Wade. “Wade, do you want to move the refrigerator?” he asked slowly.

“Yes, very much,” Wade answered earnestly. “And the stove.”

“Maybe not the stove,” Peter replied doubtfully.

“For what reason do I cultivate these,” Wade flexed one bulging bicep until he could kiss it “swoll ass muscles, if not to impress the lads?”

Peter tried hard to hold his laughter in, but he just ended up snorting before succumbing. Wade smiled at Peter with a pleased expression as he curled up with one arm wrapped around his shaking stomach and the other braced on his thigh.

“Yeah,” Peter gasped when he finally started to get himself under control. “Yeah, okay. The fridge.”

“And the stove,” Wade added.

“We’ll see,” Peter said with a put on suspicious look.

“Good enough!” Wade sang as he approached the fridge. He squared off with the squat appliance, squinting at it like it was a long time rival and enemy. “Okay, stand back!” Wade announced, throwing his arms out wide and nearly clocking Peter in the face. “I don’t want any civilians getting hurt, so please give me some space!” Peter moved back, if only to prevent himself from being decked while Wade made exaggerated hand movements.

After being satisfied with Peter’s distance, Wade flexed his arms in the too small t-shirt a few times and rolled his neck. He stepped up to the fridge and widened his stance before wrapping his arms around the sides and with one loud grunt picking it up.

“Holy shit,” Peter breathed.

“Yep,” Wade said through clenched teeth and he hesitantly took a step backward. “I’m pretty impressive,” he continued to grunt as he took three painful looking steps backward before letting the fridge slowly come to sit back down on the kitchen linoleum.

Peter stepped lightly around Wade, who was still huffing and puffing and bracing most of his weight on the fridge to see what they had uncovered.

“Holy bejeesus,” Peter breathed and then had to gag a little bit.

“What?” Wade asked, still out of breath.

“That’s disgusting,” Peter said, still staring into the space that had been opened up behind the fridge.

“What?” Wade asked again, sounding less out of breath and more interested.

“I think that’s the mold growing experiment I did back in high school. Except, my mold wasn’t shaped like an old sandwich that appears to be ... breathing?” Peter said.

“Shut up, there is not a breathing sandwich,” Wade started to say, circling behind Peter to look down onto the space behind the fridge. “Holy shit that is a fucking living sandwich. Do you think it’s developed sentience yet?”

“If it has, do you think it’s got feelings are for that gray cheeto in the corner?”

“I know if I was sentient piece of mold I would be eyeing up that onion growing in that crack there.”

“Yeah, I mean. At least it’s organic.”

“Peter, this is gross.”

“I know, Wade.”

“Do you think I should just put the fridge back where I found it?”

“That’s probably for the best.”

Wade stepped carefully around to the front of the fridge as if not wanting to disturb the fragile ecosystem they had just uncovered and hefted the large appliance back into its previous position. The two young men stared warily at the fridge for a moment before Wade turned to Peter with a thoughtful expression.

“Are you sort of hungry for pizza?” he asked

Peter’s green face and incredulous expression answered for him.

“I’m a growing boy!” Wade argued, even though Peter didn’t say anything.

Peter huffed out an uncertain laugh. “Okay, whatever. It is dinner time. We can walk to the pizzeria a few blocks down. Maybe my appetite will return by then.”

* * *

 

Thirty minutes and a brief walk saw Peter and Wade seated at an old wooden booth at a local pizzeria. Wade had ordered a medium pizza with everything on it while Peter made do with two slices of pepperoni and a side salad.

“Man, how do they call this an everything pizza and not put anchovies on it?” Wade grumbled around a mouth full of food.

Peter smiled wryly at him across the table. “I think most people don’t like anchovies.”

“Well, most people fucking suck,” Wade grumbled.

Peter smiled again, but the smile looked a little sad.

“I’m just glad to know you eat something other than mexican,” Peter commented, trying to lighten the mood.

“What can I say, you can’t live the taco life twenty-four seven. That’s how you get scurvy,” Wade replied, winning a genuine laugh from the man across from him.

“How did you come to, um, making tacos full time?” Peter asked awkwardly.

Wade laughed a little awkwardly. “It’s kind of a boring story,” he said.

“I’m interested though!” Peter said with a tilted grin. He sat his half eaten pizza slice back on its paper plate and gave Wade his full attention, which was a little more than Wade felt he could handle.

“Well, okay,” Wade said hesitantly, suddenly feeling bashful. Peter was a successful scientist, even if he rarely talked about it. Wade owned and ran a taco truck. How the hell was he going to make this interesting? The answer was that he probably wouldn’t be able to. Well, whatever, he had warned Peter it was a boring story.

“So, I worked at this greasy spoon ever since I was like 14, right?” Peter nodded along. “I started as a busboy, then I was a dish washer, then a prep cook and then when I turned 18 they made me a line cook and I started working full time.” Peter smiled and nodded again. “I didn’t really like school and I didn’t have any plans for what to do after, so I was just working at the diner and hanging out with my friends in my free time. Eventually the old guy who was the head cook somehow upended a barrel of oil and turkeys on himself-”

“What?” Peter yelped, his mouth stretching into an amazed grin.

“That, my friend, is a story for another time. But, the owner was like, ‘That’s the last straw, you fat fuck!’ and fired him right on the spot, turkey grease and all. Then he turned to the rest of us and was like, ‘Get back to work! Wade’s in charge!’ And, I sort of think he always meant to actually go hire someone else, but no turkeys were spilt while I was on the job, so he just kind of forgot about it.”

“Dude, that’s ridiculous,” Peter laughed, shoulders shaking with suppressed mirth.

“Dude, that’s my life. Also, that’s pretty much the most interesting part of the story.” Peter quirked an eyebrow like he didn’t believe him. Wade protested, “No, really! I was the head cook for a couple of years, but it doesn’t take long of making the same five meals over and over again for it to get boring. I would do specials and stuff that were fun for me, but they didn’t always sell well and the owner didn’t really care for me to get too creative.

Eventually, a friend of mine from high school was trying to sell an old box truck and I had been reading up on how to renovate them into a food truck, so I bought it. I worked on it for months until it was ready and then I started to drive her around on the weekends. After a while I started to make enough on the weekends that I could quit my shitty fry cook job and, voila, you get the hunky piece of man meat that you see before you.”

“Wow, that’s actually,” Peter flushed a little and ran a hand over his cheek, “kind of amazing.”

Wade felt a blush coming on that he knew definitively he was too old to pull off. “Hey, you don’t have to be nice. I told you it was a boring story.”

“It wasn’t boring!” Peter argued. “And, it’s for real amazing. You worked for years at one place until you were able to get the top position in the kitchen. Then, when you weren’t getting what you needed from that job, you were brave enough to pick up a second job. You were able to work at that job until you were successful enough that you could do it full time. Wade, that’s super impressive! I don’t think I could do something like that.”

Wade rubbed a calloused hand roughly across the back of his neck, trying to disperse the heat he felt there. “It’s not that amazing,” Wade mumbled. “You’re smart and talented, Peter. I’m sure you can do whatever you put your mind to.”

Peter flushed across the table from him and looked away. They were both probably sufficiently embarrassed at that point to prevent much conversation, so Wade proceeded to try and shove the rest of his pizza into his mouth to save himself from talking.

“Thanks again for helping me clean my aunt’s house,” Peter said hesitantly, still not quite able to make eye contact. Instead, he stared somewhere slightly above Wade’s right shoulder.

“Mo mwobem” Wade tried to say around a mouth full of green peppers, pizza dough and marinara sauce.

A fond smile flashed across Peter’s face before he shoved the rest of his pepperoni pizza in his mouth to cover it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! I'm planning roughly four chapters, but don't quote me on that. Probably about this same length.
> 
> Also, that story about the guy spilling a 5 gallon bucket of turkeys and oil on himself is a true story.
> 
> Anyway, if you want to make any special requests or chat or see sneak peeks of what I'm working on, please follow me at ipicklethings on tumblr! ♥
> 
> And, thanks again to everyone for reading and commenting! I'm so surprised you guys liked my story so much!


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